Afterwards
by immo
Summary: Um, its a Noir fic with femslashy/yuri/shoujo-ai content. All those who don't like, beware! Mireille/Kirika


Afterwards  
Immo  
immo@hamena.org  
  
Author's comments: Okay, I know the title sucks ass. Don't blame me. It was either that, or  
'Josie and the Pussycats' cuz that was the cd I've been listening to repetitively. Buy the cd  
everybody! Oh, by the way, I love Eliza Dushku. She's the girl that plays Faith in Buffy the  
Vampire Slayer, Missy in Bring It On!, Annabel in Soul Survivors, Danielle (Dan the Man) in  
The New Guy (Watch it for the bathing suit scene!) and a whole list that I won't bother, cuz  
I'm too busy worshipping her. :P Its late. Um, its a Noir fic with femslashy/yuri/shoujo-ai/  
girl-girl love/angsty thing. Cool. I think girlgirl love is cute. So shut up.  
  
COMMENTS, COMPLIMENTS, REVIEWS, COMPLAINTS, FLAMES (please, no?), ARE WELCOME (cept for the  
flames). Please. I'm doing an analysis on Oedipus. Leave my psycotic psychoticness alone (but  
all C&Cs and Rs are welcome!) and read the fic.  
  
~-~-~  
  
It might've been better if I had died that night. I don't know, but sometimes I think  
it would've been so much better if Mireille had killed me as soon as I approached her. Then  
she wouldn't be going through this.  
"I don't regret a thing." Mireille and that beautiful smile.  
What a lie that was. When she thought I was asleep, she would cry, and I would just  
lay there and listen to her, because there was nothing I could do. There was nothing I  
wouldn't do for her, but really, there was nothing I could do.  
It was stupid of both of us to think that love would conquer all. Shallow breaths and  
passion-filled nights don't erase the blood on our hands. Especially not mine. I haven't even  
made penance for my crimes against her.  
She would never admit to regret, not my Mireille. She was strong, and I was so proud  
of her, so drawn to her and her curious ways. Sometimes, I feel like I have nothing inside me  
and she would fill me with herself, her light, her face, her being.  
Lately, I've been unresponsive, I've withdrawn into myself, and she worries. I don't  
want her to worry, but its so hard not to think about these things.  
Does her family haunt her at night, screaming for revenge?  
Why does she continue like this?  
And I watch her, sometimes, when she's not looking and try to see those ghosts that  
surround her. I know she has one, or some, because I do too. How does it feel to have a   
Chloe, eternally poking you with a dessert fork?  
Just thinking about her sometimes, in an ethereal form, grinning delightfully, makes  
me smile too. But I dread it everytime I see the phantom glare at me accusingly.  
Love can't win all the time, just as hate can't win all the time either. Altena, dear  
mother, forgive me. For I have sinned.  
Love can't erase the trainings of Noir. I was brought up, knowing nothing else except  
Noir. How could I abandon it?  
Noir was two...  
How could Mireille abandon her family?  
The breeze was warm, a perfect summer day, sitting in an outdoor cafe.  
Five to twelve. Would she be late?  
When arms wrapped around me from behind in a tight hug, I knew that was a stupid  
question. Stupid, stupid. Of course she wouldn't be late.  
"Good afternoon,"  
It was amazing how, just the touch of her lips brushing against my ear, the slight  
growl in her voice, could set me on fire. She brandished a rose, brushing it deftly across my  
lips, and I found myself blushing when I saw an elderly couple watching us in amusement.  
"Mireille..." I leaned my head back, and she kissed me on the lips tenderly, before  
moving to her seat opposite me. How could anyone be so beautiful?  
How could anyone be so damned beautiful, yet so dangerous? My eyes trained on her  
hands.  
"Kirika, there's a show at the Paris Opera House." Two tickets appeared in her hands.  
"Lets go watch."  
"What are we watching?"  
Merielle shrugged, grinning. "Does it matter?"  
  
And when we sat in those plush red seats, and I leaned back, watching the opera, it  
didn't really matter. The music, the whole of the opera, was beautiful.  
"Have you heard of Le Fantôme de l'opéra?" Her words whispered into my ear. I   
shivered, as a hand brushed teasingly against my thigh.  
"Phantom of the Opera? Isn't that a musical?" I responded in a breathless tone,  
Mireille's hair tickling my forehead, as the blonde nipped at the my neck.  
'Mireille...'  
"Mireille," I was ashamed of the lust that was so evident in my voice. And even when  
I tried to squirm away from her, I returned those kisses. "We're in public..."  
"In public, in private, in our own box number five." Mireille chuckled when I let out  
a loud gasp. "Only le fantôme de l'opéra will see us. Now... kiss me."  
It didn't really matter which opera we were watching, because as the orchestra played  
on, I was just thankful it muffled the sounds we were making. Mireille could be quite the   
risk-taker when she felt like it, and as I lay against her chest, listening to her heart   
slowing back to normal pace, I wonder how much I've changed her.  
We ran down the steps, past the other opera-goers, and giggled and apologized when we  
bumped into people, no amount of sour looks or complaints could kill our mood. We were  
together, alive, and well.  
Wandering the streets, we kissed, chased each other, watched the lamplights flicker  
on and off for a while, then watched the dark waters below us, on a bridge.  
I had buried whatever normal life I had in those dark waters. Maybe I should go and  
buy myself a new sketchbook... but was that really necessary when I know that simple drawings  
on paper could not give me nearly as much life as Mireille did?  
Strange how to people could meet under such strange circumstances, yes, that was us.  
Stranger still how one could love the murderer of your family, how you could fall in love  
with the person who said they would kill you.  
Heh.  
It was funny.  
That feeling. That word. Love.  
  
*-*-*  
  
We had finally gotten past that last hurdle.  
Didn't know it was so hard for both of us to just show that we cared for each other.  
We could take out a small army by ourselves, and still, those three little words defeat us. I  
don't know what we're so afraid of, but neither of us could utter it, even a month after our  
run-in with Soldats, when everything fell to a close at the Manor.  
But was it really the end?  
That haunted expression in Kirika's eyes... it was still there.  
And Soldats still lurked around the corner. I could feel them. Smell them, maybe. A  
scent of old parchment, and fine red wine that intoxicated and made me feel sluggish and  
dangerously drunk.  
"Mireille?"  
I moved away from the window. I thought I had... no. It couldn't have been. I thought  
I had glimpsed the shine of the noonday sun off the cold steel of a gun. But that wasn't  
possible.  
I kept telling myself that, again and again, over and over.  
'It wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, it's very possible, you  
two embarassed their whole organization, the two of you managed to single-handedly cripple  
Soldats and off some of their most important and powerful members, you know the identity of  
the roots of Soldats, old men who sat in seats of power...'  
"Is something on your mind?"  
Our eyes met, and I fought an internal struggle. Should I tell Kirika about my  
worries? Or should I keep it to myself, keep this paranoia buried deep inside me and not  
scratch at a wound that was still fresh and red. Irritable if you touch it. Infections, and  
pus caking around the edges of the cut.  
"Nothing."  
"Here," Kirika got up from her seat and walked behind me, hands sliding across my  
tense shoulders, thumbs and fingers caressed the bare flesh of my back, slipping underneath  
my shirt to run dry heat across the my back.  
"Kirika," I couldn't help it, and arched my back, giving in to the smaller girl's  
ministrations.  
"That feels nice..."  
Lips trailed across the back of my neck.  
"THAT, feels even nicer," I purred. Kirika's mouth turned up into a small pink smile.  
"That's exactly what I want to hear."  
  
Later on in the early evening, I still had that feeling. We had decided to eat at a  
small diner we both loved, and it was easy to pick out the sore thumb amongst the regular  
patrons.  
"That one." I was sure. So sure.  
Kirika's eyes darted to the side, unnoticably, and she continued her meal. "I see."  
"That's why I've been acting all jumpy." pause. "Soldats."  
Kirika's hand tightened around the fork, she placed the utensil down, and reached for  
the stem of her wineglass, almost downing all the contents in one gulp.  
"No." Her voice was harsh.  
"I'm certain--"  
"No." Kirika said a bit louder now. "No. No more. Its not, Mireille. We leave them  
alone, they leave us alone. Please."  
I looked at the dark-eyed girl, saw a sort of anxiety in her.  
"I want to believe, I want to, Mireille. That they've left us alone. We have nothing  
to do with them, they have nothing to do with us." Kirika reached out to place her hand on  
top of mine. "Please. I *need* to."  
I could feel that rough spot on her finger, her trigger finger. Over time, if one  
pulls the trigger of a gun too much, one develops a callous on the spot. Like if a person  
writes too much. If one stops doing whatever it is that developed the callous in the first  
place, it will fade. But it takes some time.  
So I closed myself off to the newness in the environment, and ordered a strawberry  
shortcake for myself, and Kirika ordered a chocolate cheesecake, that she only managed to  
finish half of.  
"Lets go home."  
The bill was paid, and we went back to our apartment. The man had also paid his bill  
and was following us. But both Kirika and I ignored it. Or at least, I tried to. The  
comforting weight of my handgun in my purse was... of little comfort, as he followed us up  
the steps to our apartment... and stopped one floor before ours. I heard the jangle of his  
keys as he let himself into his apartment.  
I breathed out a sigh of relief. Overreating to the smallest thing, that's probably  
what Kirika was thinking right now as she unlocks the door to our apartment.  
The plant was outlined by the low-hanging moon, almost as if it perched on the  
windowsill. Kirika went to take a shower first, and I went and made some tea, the ritual had  
been set for us. I boiled the water and spooned tea leaves into the teapot. Then, I went and  
set the table for two. Usually, Kirika would be helping me... but tonight there was tension.  
I nursed my cup of tea, enjoying the herbal scent, when Kirika came out of the bathroom.  
Steam raced out between her legs, she was in her bathrobe, hair hanging wet and loose, towel  
draped over her arm.  
"Your turn." Kirika sat on the bed, and used the towel to slowly, meticulously, dry  
her hair.  
"The tea. It'll get cold."  
And there was that glare, I had seen that same glare when I had gone to 'rescue'  
Kirika from the kind mother. That glare that recognized me, but wished me a slow, painful,  
torturous death.  
"I'm sorry." She returned to normal, regret written clearly on her face.  
"No, its..." I was going to say it was my fault. But it wasn't. So it would have been  
a lie. It was awkward, just standing there, so I escaped to the washroom, and hid underneath  
the spray of the shower.  
When I came back out, Kirika was already in bed, her cup of tea finished. And my tea  
was already cold, so I just went back into the bathroom, wiped off the foggy mirror, and  
blow-dried my hair.  
Slipping under the covers, I turned so my back faced Kirika's.  
'So. This is a lover's quarrel.' Even though, outwardly I was relaxed, everything was  
a bundle of quivering nerves, and that delightful mixture of hurt and fear pricked my brain.  
A feather-light touch, and Kirika drew me into her arms, breath ruffling my hair.  
"I'm sorry."  
"I'm not mad at you."  
A soft chuckle that tickled my back.  
"Yes you are."  
Turning in Kirika's hold, our noses touching, breath smelling of minty freshness from  
the toothpaste, I smiled at her.  
"No." Lips touched in a kiss. "I'm not."  
  
*-*-*  
  
Merielle woke up. It was a dreary day, one of those rainy days that left everybody  
restless. Kirika was one of those people. The sheets bunched up around her legs, and the  
blonde kicked them off irritably.   
"Kirika?" She called out, knowing full well that she wasn't going to get a reply. The  
girl had probably run down to one of her favorite breakfast places. And sure enough, when  
Mireille went to find her, she was sitting at their table, breakfast already ordered.  
"I ordered for two."  
Mireille nodded, and thanked the waitress when she came back with their breakfast and  
the newspaper. Since they didn't accept contracts anymore and had 'retired' from the assasin  
business, Mireille had found the time to read the newspaper. Most of the time, she scoured  
the headlines, wondering, searching for something which never appeared.  
"Your omelette is getting cold."  
Mirielle put down the paper.  
"I was wondering..." Kirika started. Mireille paused, and the russet-haired girl  
continued. "I was wondering if, maybe, you think visiting Canada... wouldn't it be nice? I  
mean, there's the Niagara Falls. I heard there's always snow there, so maybe catch some  
skiing?"  
Mireille nodded, putting fork and knife down. "A vacation?"  
"Yes."  
The blonde smiled, a sparkle of interest in her eyes. "You know not all parts of  
Canada have snow this time of year, right?"  
Kirika blushed. "Of course. You're teasing me."  
"I wouldn't dare!" Mireille laughed, and cut out a small corner of her omelette. She  
never used to eat breakfast.  
"We'll have so much fun!" That child-like glee, that Mireille mirrored. Both had been  
deprived of most of their childhood, and now they relived it with each other. Plans were laid  
down, each detail was examined, equipment, money, everything was accounted for on sheets of  
napkin that the owner of the establishment gladly provided his customers with. It was like a  
grand adventure for them.  
Travelling to a place that didn't involve shooting at, being shot at, or other such  
things that lead to an unnaturally short life.  
"Be right back. Washroom."  
She walked through the door, and immediately froze.  
"You couldn't escape us, you know that."  
Kirika's mouth opened and closed, no words coming out, the coldness of the blade,  
pressed against her throat made her eyes water.  
"I killed you."  
"Well, obviously, you didn't do a good job, did you." The figure murmurred  
humorously. "You weren't as sloppy when you killed that man in the floor below yours."  
"How did you know...?"  
"Merielle was right. I was watching her. But that man was innocent, you know."  
Her mouth went dry.  
"No. You're dead."  
"You're repeating yourself."  
"No, no. I KILLED you." Kirika insisted. "You're DEAD."  
"But I'm alive."  
"I could kill you again."  
"I'll come back." Was the malicious reply. "And I won't be as nice."  
Kirika quavered at the tone of voice, reduced to a child again. "But... I did kill  
you."  
"Fine." The person sighed, and lowered the blade. "This is a horrible nightmare that  
you'll never ever wake up from, Kirika. It could be a dream. Here."  
The person handed her a gun, cold to the touch. Her gun. She knew her gun. Eyes rose  
to search the person's face, and they smiled reassuringly. "It's a nightmare. It doesn't make  
any sense. And you know, only when you've finished what you started in this horrible dream,  
when you were just a little girl, will this end. Am I not right?"  
"...It was beginning to be a very good dream."  
"It was." The person nodded sagely. "For you it was. But you know what they say, 'All  
good things must come to an end'."  
"Yes. Altena." Arms wrapped around her and a kiss brushed her forehead.  
"You have things to do, Kirika."  
It was a horrible nightmare. She couldn't control her limbs, couldn't stop herself as  
she checked the gun mechanically, then stalked out the door. The owner was nowhere in sight,  
and the light that filtered through the rain-splattered glass made everything have a horrible  
sickening feel to it. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.  
She walked up behind Mireille, and the blonde didn't turn around, still bent over  
those plans to Canada, talking aloud.  
"Plane tickets, we could go get them tomorrow... actually, we could leave right away!  
There's nothing holding us back here anymore!" Mireille still didn't turn around, as she  
laughed. "Of course, we'll have to worry about the non-existant snow..."  
If this was all just a horrible nightmare... then if she woke up, Mireille wouldn't  
be real, right? So. It had to end like this. Everything would end. Or would a new nightmare  
just begin? She really did like this dream.  
"Mireille?" Kirika relished how her tongue wrapped around the syllables of the  
blonde's name.  
"Yes?" And Kirika loved how Mireille answered her.  
She still didn't look back. She really should. Or maybe she shouldn't. Kirika didn't  
have control... not the control she wanted. She could feel HER watching...  
"Hey... you know I... you know." That caught Kirika off-guard. "I can't say it. But  
maybe I'll say it some day, Kirika. I don't know. It seems like everytime I say those three  
little words to anyone, they end up dead."  
Laughter. Mireille's laughter, and Kirika's, who sounded near hysterical. She cocked  
her gun, and she could see Mireille's shoulders freeze at the sound, gasp at the feel of the  
barrel against the back of her head.  
"Seems like you and I are the same." Kirika didn't know why, but tears were running  
down her face. "We just can't seem to keep the people we love."  
  
~-~-~  
  
OOC: SO late at night, gonna do Oedipus homework and that sucks crap. My class is so funny.  
We have one of those class-clown kids as Oedipus, and a Guyanese girl who always kisses her  
teeth at and give attitude to people playing Tiresias, the blind soothsayer. So funny.  
guy:...You have no power or truth. You are blind, your ears and mind as well as your eyes.  
(The guy adds a 'haha!' at the end)  
girl: You are a pitiful figure. These reproaches you fling at me, all these people will fling  
them at you--and before very long. (Add a lot of kissing teeth, attitude at the 'flinging'  
parts, and eye-rolling. So it'll look like this:)  
girl: You ( 


End file.
